


Seeing Red

by Merci



Category: DOGS - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Comfort, Humour, M/M, Shounen-ai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merci/pseuds/Merci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haine’s roped into playing Santa in his first-ever Christmas experience, but he doesn’t anticipate the feelings that arise when he reflects on his last Christmases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naitachal666](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=naitachal666).



> **Disclaimer:** I am making no profit from this fanfiction. I do not own Badou, Haine, Bishop, Nill, Naoto, or anything to do with Dogs: Bullets and Carnage.
> 
> This is a part of a Christmas exchange with naitachal666 (at y!gallery). The thought of Haine in a Santa suit occurred to me, and then I began to formulate a plot on how the hell I could realistically get him into one. The angst sort of jumped out at me. I’m not too sure how it comes across, but I hope it pleases.
> 
> Also, sorry for the blunt Christmas Story reference in here. I couldn’t resist ^___^
> 
> This isn’t exactly yaoi, but being a yaoi fan, it’s bound to feel yaoi-ish. I really did want to turn this into a fic with kissing, but it just didn’t seem to work out that way.

Haine was doing a great job smiling, even though it was hidden by a fluffy, white beard. He shifted uncomfortably in the makeshift throne and looked to the long line of children that were waiting to sit on Santa’s lap.

Just. Fuck.

Across from him, Badou was hooking his camera to a computer and digging into a bag for candy canes for all the waiting, screaming kids. This was going to be a long day, and the white dog would just have to steel himself to get through it.

It had been Bishop’s idea as a way to raise money for the church. They could cash in on the holiday season and sell parents pictures of their kids with Santa. Naoto and Bishop had created a wonderful setup for Santa’s throne and workshop, and Haine and Nill had helped to paint it all and put it together. That was the extent Haine thought he would have to help (as payment for keeping his stash of guns in the church). Badou was the photographer, which left Mihai to be their Santa Claus, but when he got lost on the way to the church, Bishop was left scrambling for a stand-in for the fat man. The children were already lined up outside the church, their voices ringing through the stained glass windows as they eagerly screamed and cried to see Santa Claus.

Nill had hopped onto the back of a pew, as if to peek through one of the windows, before turning her worried eyes to Haine. It just took her silent plea to melt his resistance to the idea. She wanted to help Bishop. She wanted to make the children happy.

He didn’t know the first thing about Christmas, but felt the pressure in her eyes and resigned himself to wearing the stupid red outfit. He’d stood still while Badou quickly adjusted to fit his smaller frame, after tying a pillow to his waist to add some sort of bulk.

Badou worked quickly with pins and a cigarette tucked into his mouth and before long he’d made the adjustments that would leave Haine looking fatter and jollier than he’d ever looked before.

It had all happened so fast, and suddenly he was on Santa’s throne with a pillow under his shirt and a dozen excited children looking his way. He reactively glared at them before correcting himself and forcing a smile onto his face. It hurt like hell.

With a stiff nod, Haine signaled to Badou to invite the first child to sit on his, ugh, lap.

Badou’s red hair streamed down his back, contrasting merrily against his green elf suit as he cheerfully ushered the first – a little boy – to climb the stairs and find his way onto Haine’s lap. The boy squirmed and clung to Haine’s arm for support.

Haine watched him, waiting. What happened next? In all the rush to get him fitted for the suit, nobody had told him what he should say. It’s not like Santa ever visited him in the Underground.

The boy stared back at him, his mouth hanging open. He trembled slightly, radiating fear.

Haine panicked, checking that his mouth was still stretched into that painful grin. No, he wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t threatening the kid. Why was he scared shitless? “What is it?” he muttered.

“I-I-I w-w-w-want a-a-a…” the child started.

Dear God, Haine resisted rolling his eyes. If they all went like this, it would take forever. “What do you want?” he asked, feeling the impatient eyes of parents and children alike burning into him.

“A bike!” the kid finally spit out.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” Haine lifted the kid off and waved him off.

The boy looked back at Haine, as if the experience wasn’t quite what he expected.

Badou rushed up to greet him and help him back to his mother. After that, he stalked back towards Haine. “The hell was that?” he hissed as he leaned against the back of Santa’s chair.

“I don’t know. I’ve never met Santa before!” Haine dropped his smile and scowled out from under the white trim of his hat.

“Look,” Badou said, trying to make things simple and get back to the kids. “When they get up here, say ‘Ho, ho, ho! What do you want little boy or girl?’ that’s what all the Santas say. The kids then tell you want they want, you say okay, pose for a picture and then off they go. If you’re feeling improvisational, ask them if they’ve been good this year.”

“What if they’ve been bad?” Haine asked, peering over Badou’s shoulder at the growing crowd of children of all ages. He spotted a few infants and felt his resolve weaken.

“Then they get coal in their stockings. Seriously, did nobody tell you about this stuff?”

Haine’s expression turned dangerous, and even though the jolly filter of the beard, it forced Badou back.

Badou wisely backed away and invited the next child up the steps. He quickly motioned to Haine to smile before ducking back behind his camera.

The little girl was better than the last one; she was a pro at the whole asking-Santa-for-stuff. She knew what she wanted and told him as much. Haine didn’t even have to help her off his knee.

Well, that wasn’t so bad.

He looked over the crowd and spotted Bishop directing the line and helping to collect payment. Naoto and Nill were to the side, busy printing the pictures from the computer. He was beginning to feel it wasn’t so bad. Things were falling into place and he might just get through the day without killing anyone. Then, the next two children were unleashed on him and he began to question that hopeful thought.

+

Hours later the line was beginning to dwindle down to the last visitor of the day, and it was just as well. Bishop was off to the side, flipping through a large wad of money and listening as they flittered by his ear, while Naoto and Nill had fallen asleep in a pew.

Even Badou looked exhausted as he crouched behind his camera, a candy cane hanging from his mouth as it stood in for a cigarette. Haine rubbed his eyes, feeling the weight of all the children’s wishes hanging over him. At least there was just one kid left…

“Ho, ho, ho! What do you want little boy or girl?” Haine delivered his line in a deep, booming voice that he’d honed after hours of practice.

“Santa!” the kid exclaimed, breaking Haine’s whole routine.

“Yes?” Haine tried playing along as the kid climbed into his lap.

“Do you remember me? I’ve been so good this year. Better than last year. I’ve been so good that I just know you’ll get me what I want for sure!”

“…that’s good. What is it?”

“A Red Ryder BB Gun! I _need_ it!”

“A gun?!” Haine asked. His smile dropped as he looked incredulously at the kid. “You’re too little for a gun. ” Seriously, what kid asked for a fucking gun! He might have needed one when he was that age, but…

“No, I’m—!”

“Fine,” Haine cut him off. “Fine, you’ll shoot your eye out, but fine. Just get off my lap. I’m done.” He began to rise and the kid slid off his knee. Badou was quick to rush forward and help the kid find his mother, no-doubt smoothing things over with the youngster so he felt happy with his experience and they’d come back again to buy more.

Haine descended from his throne and tore the beard off. His scowl was back as he eyed Bishop, who watched him from the pews, his cane propped between his feet like some pimp watching his Santa-ho earn him money.

Haine turned from this all and retreated to the back office. There was something about the last kid that just felt so wrong. The whole thing. Those kids were so greedy, listing off all sorts of shit that they wanted but didn’t need. Half of them needed baths, but he didn’t hear one of them ask for soap.

He slammed the office door behind him, but he didn’t hear the satisfying bang that would accentuate the feelings burning inside him. He turned on his heel, seeing Badou in the doorway, having caught the wood with his hand.

“Relax, Santa; it’s over,” Badou said, planting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. It was the first Cigarette he’d had in hours and he sucked it back like water to a man dying of thirst. Badou shut the door behind him and wandered in. He leaned on the desk beside Haine, wisely keeping quiet and continuing to smoke.

Haine watched him for a long moment before giving up and collapsing into a chair. There was something loose inside him; the whole Christmas experience had unhinged feelings he’d thought were dead. His childhood… those children… they would wake up on Christmas morning to loving parents… there wouldn’t be a monstrous beast to fight… nothing would rip them apart if they hesitated for a second.

Outwardly, Haine remained stoic and controlled, but inside his memory continued to unravel. He’d been able to tell everyone of his upbringing in the underground with a detached heart, but at that moment it felt as if something had reattached itself and he couldn’t quell the feelings of self-pity and hate that tore at his chest.

“Hey,” Badou’s voice cut through his thoughts, drawing his attention. His cigarette was missing and he’d gripped both of Haine’s shoulders. When did he do that? Haine hadn’t even seen him move. “Hey, snap out of it,” Badou said, kneeling between Haine’s legs. He was close, and leaned in closer. He was shaking somehow as he rubbed Haine’s shoulders.

No, that wasn’t entirely right. Badou wasn’t the one shaking…

He touched Haine’s cheek, guiding his face up.

Haine let him; he just didn’t have the energy to resist. He let Badou touch his cheeks and watched those nicotine-stained fingers come away wet. That was… strange. Haine blinked, feeling something warm leaking from his eyes.

“Fuck…” Badou muttered and pulled him in for a hug.

Haine sank into the warmth. He listened to the way Badou sighed and said something, but he didn’t really hear. It felt good to be that close. He vaguely wondered what Badou was doing. It was so unlike him, but Haine’s insides felt like slush and he just clung to the offered comfort. He snaked his arms out around his back in a way he’d seen others do before. He’d never understood hugs, but to get one… and to need it… He might have heard Badou mutter something about not wanting their relationship to go ‘that way’, but the hug was in place and Haine couldn’t let go.

Haine breathed in deeply, his throat hitching on the smoke that clung to Badou like an aura of death. He didn’t know when it had happened, but Badou was the only one who ever did get close to him. Who _could_ get close. He’d bothered to get to know Haine, even though they pretended to barely tolerate each other.

He chuckled deeply against Haine’s neck and gently ran his fingers through his hair. “God, you act so tough all the time, but when you let go…” Badou sighed, his breath warming Haine’s neck.

Haine slumped against his partner as his mind wandered to thoughts of the past. Of Lilly and even Giovanni and the terrible things their _“physician”_ had made them do. Haine hadn’t wanted to fight that first time… when did he grow hard to everything?

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” Badou muttered against his ear. It sounded far away, like it came on a smoky breeze that coursed through Haine’s memories of the underground.

Haine shuddered as he recomposed himself and let go of the images that burned in his heart. He buried the others that were too big to unleash, too dangerous to let go. He was too fucked up to cry it all out on Badou’s shoulder. He needed a scalpel to carve out all his issues, and he knew only one doctor that was skilled enough to sate his need for revenge.

Long moments past and Haine’s shoulders sagged, their quivering having calmed enough to give Badou hope it was over. The smoker loosened his grip and they drew apart, regarding each other with lowered defenses.

Haine couldn’t imagine what he looked like as he regarded Badou, but he could see something had come unhinged in Badou as well. The smoker absently rubbed a few tears from his eye and the defenses went up again. Haine slowly lifted his own, with enough of an opening for Badou to get through if he tried. Something told him this Christmas was just unleashing all sorts of shit on the both of them and if he could trust one person, it was Badou. He remained seated, watching as Badou rose to his feet and quickly lit a cigarette.

“Feeling better?” Badou asked.

“Yes,” Haine said, nodding.

“You’re welcome,” Badou said. “Someone has to take care of your pasty ass, and I know all about Christmas depression.” He walked to the desk and opened a drawer, withdrawing a package from inside. “Here,” he said, passing the soft, lumpy present to Haine. It was covered in green wrapping paper that was decorated with little candy canes.

“What is this?” Haine asked, holding it up and inspecting the perfectly taped edges.

“Open it,” Badou hummed as he leaned back on the desk. “Like I said, someone’s got to take care of you.”

Haine tore open the paper and withdrew the familiar contents. “…a jacket?”

“Not any jacket,” Badou said, seemingly deflated when he had to explain his gift. “It’s your favourite jacket, right?” He took the garment from Haine and held it up. “You got it all ripped to shit a few months ago and threw it in the garbage. I rescued it and repaired it for you, so Merry Christmas.”

“Ah…” Haine took the jacket back and inspected it closer. He’d given the coat up for dead with all the rips and holes in it. The arm had been missing and the entire back looked like a well-used pincushion. Was the spotless jacket before him really the same? Badou did it for him? He looked back at the other man, holding the coat tightly in his grasp.

“You can thank me now,” Badou said, puffing his chest out with pride. He was obviously pleased with Haine’s expression.

“Thank you,” Haine muttered as he rose to his feet. That was his first Christmas gift.

“Yeah, well, I know you haven’t really done this Christmas thing before, so I’m going easy on you this year,” Badou said with a smile. “The tradition is to exchange gifts, so maybe you can come to my place on the twenty-fourth. We can celebrate, get drunk, and you can give me my gift then.”

“Do you really want to wait that long for a carton of cigarettes?” Haine asked. As long as Badou smoked he’d always be easy to buy for. He could see the indecision in Badou’s eyes as he weighed tradition over his need for nicotine. He knew which one would win.

“Let’s go to the store,” he finally said, reaching for his coat. He forgot all about his elf hat and ears and didn’t even wait for Haine to pull on his newly-mended coat before he was out the door.

Haine followed close behind, strangely looking forward to spending Christmas Eve with Badou, as well as Christmas morning.


End file.
